


Falling Tides

by m_class



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, F/F, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Guilt, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 01, Trauma, with a little encouragement from Sylvia and Hugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_class/pseuds/m_class
Summary: As Discovery sets off on a new mission, Joann and Keyla question whether there is room for a relationship to begin amid the pain, guilt, and questions that the war has left behind.





	Falling Tides

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Joann x Keyla fic! I hope you enjoy it. :)
> 
> I'm too tired to acknowledge Hugh's death, so he is and has always been alive and well.

“Joann?”

Ten meters away from Joann, at the opposite end of Discovery’s mess hall, Keyla Detmer is sitting at a table, laughing with a small gaggle of crewmates. Even from here, Joann can see the way Keyla’s cheeks crinkle up when she smiles; the way her hand gestures vaguely, making a point as the group’s laughter subsides to chuckles.

“Joann.”

One of the people at the table must say something funny in response, because Keyla laughs again, face crinkling up and shoulders shaking.

“Earth to Joann...”

Joann blinks, looking back at her own dining companion, who is currently waving at her from across the table.

“I mean, as in the common expression,” Sylvia clarifies cheerfully, “not as in a reference to us still being over actual Earth, although that does make the expression more relevant, I guess, if you think about it, which I didn’t really do beforehand, I was really just using the expression as an expression since you really seemed to be, you know, distracted. What’s going _on_ over there?”

Before Joann can stop her, Sylvia is craning around to stare at the other end of the mess hall. Slowly, she looks back at Joann, eyes narrowing, then back at the table where Keyla-- _and plenty of other officers,_ Joann reminds herself, _there’s no reason why it’s especially remarkable that Keyla Detmer is one of them--_ is sitting.

“Oooohhh my goshhh.” A slow grin spreads across Sylvia’s face as she turns back once again to Joann.

“Sylvia, I have no idea what you _think_ you’ve figured out just now, but it’s probably not as interesting as you--”

“You _like_ Keyla.” Sylvia’s eyes are wide and delighted.

Joann lets out a shocked huff of air. “You notice me just happen to get distracted for a minute in a mess hall that happens to contain one particular member of this crew, along with dozens of others, and you automatically assume I’m interested in her?”

Sylvia narrows her eyes. _“Joann._ ”

Joann takes a deep breath to argue, then lets it out, smiling slightly in spite of herself. “Okay. Maybe I would, hypothetically, be interested in Lieutenant Detmer in a romantic sense, because, I mean, who wouldn’t be, she’s brave and clever and funny and beautiful and principled, but--”

“Oh my gooooossshhh,” Sylvia interrupts, goggling. “You’ve got it _bad.”_

“But,” Joann continues, rolling her eyes at herself internally for listing what, to her, are simply the obvious descriptors for Keyla, “this isn’t really a great time for...us…” She glances around at the assembled Discovery crew. “To do that kind of thing.”

Sylvia looks puzzled, some of the excited sparkle draining out of her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Joann takes another bite of pizza while she tries to think about what to say.

_I mean that this is my second Starfleet posting and our captain lied to us every day for months and then we were almost complicit in genocide. I mean that the war is over but now we have to face everything this ship became. I mean that we all know that Lorca lied to us about what we were and weren’t capable of and we all know none of it was credible but sometimes I feel like the bridge is still waiting for the sound of his sarcastic applause, and I mean that none of us quite know what to do about that._

“I mean...a lot of Starfleet officers did things we shouldn’t have done. The war changed...so much. And we’re barely finished with it. The relief efforts are still beginning. It just…” She trails off.

Sylvia is still staring at her, brows drawn together in earnest curiosity. “Why does any of that mean you can’t ask out a really attractive crewmate with basically the same rank as you?”

“It’s…” Joann sighs. Keyla is standing to leave the mess hall, and it occurs to Joann that she’s never seen anyone place their tray in the slot to the left of the food synthesizer with the same grace with which Keyla does it, or seen anyone tilt their head to listen to their friend with the same enchanting motion, or seen anyone’s uniform hug the exquisite curves of their retreating figure with the same…

Sylvia is grinning at her again.

For a moment, Joann finds herself grinning back. It feels _good_ to feel this way, to let the heat of her racing heartbeat and her warm, enticing thoughts suffuse through her, melting away some of the miserable, confused pain of the last few months.

But…

Joann sighs, feeling her shoulders slump again. “It’s just such a...complicated time. It’s one thing to hook up during a, a party in the middle of a war, when every day you think you might not live to see the end up it--” Unbidden, the image of Keyla in her slinky top, entwined with a crewman whose name Joann never found out, rises to her mind. And okay, maybe she had thought about it, in the days after the party; thought about what it would be like to be the one whose hands traced Keyla’s face, her hips, her back; thought about asking Keyla to the mess hall after their shift one day, not as friends but as...something else.

But now the war is over, and everything has changed, the differences between now and the last few months as stark as the differences between those months of war and the peacetime before it.

“But things are...different now,” she tells Sylvia, fiddling with her plate. “And if, hypothetically, I liked someone, and thought they were the kind of person I might want to start...something...with...I wouldn’t want to ask them unless I was absolutely sure they were...okay...with starting something on top of everything _else_ everyone’s dealing with. And there’s _so much_ that everyone’s dealing with. So it’s basically almost impossible that they _would_ be interested, looking at it that way, which seems like the way that it makes sense to look at it,” she finishes in a rush.

Finishing her pizza, Sylvia plays with the edge of her napkin in her lap. “That’s really how you feel?”

Joann nods, relieved that Sylvia isn’t pushing her too hard on this. “It is. I mean, I think it is. I think I’d know if I wasn’t worried about the fact that I think they wouldn’t?”

The words sound more or less unintelligible to her own ears, but Sylvia nods anyway. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she says earnestly, reaching out to pat Joann’s hand encouragingly a couple of times. “But, like...if you _did_ decide that you wanted to ask someone you were hypothetically interested in if _they_ were interested, you would, like, tell me, right? Because I totally respect your opinion on all of this stuff but I actually kind of feel the opposite way myself, I mean, I think it would really make people happy if there were some new relationships and things starting on this ship, not that you’d have to tell anyone or be doing it for the good of the _ship_ or something, that’s gross, but what I’m saying is just that _I_ think you and Keyla would be really really really cute together so if anything happens you’ll totally tell me, right?”

Picking up her tray, Joann can’t help but smile. “Right.”

***

Sitting at the helm of the USS Discovery, Keyla waits for Acting Captain Saru’s orders, trying to focus on the blue curve of Earth below them on the viewscreen. It will be months before Keyla sees her home planet again, after all, and Earth is always beautiful from up here, swirling clouds and storm patterns marbelling across the blue and green surface, so it should definitely be holding her attention. Definitely.

“Engineering reports all systems ready, Captain,” says Lieutenant Commander Airiam behind her.

The events of the last few months have held her attention when she’s been on the bridge, obviously; battles and rescues and daring escapes have a way of taking up one’s entire concentration. But even at the most dangerous times on the Discovery, there have been intermittent moments when nothing is happening; when there are no orders to follow and nothing changing on the viewscreen. And it has been at these times, just as now, that Keyla has become aware of how increasingly difficult it is to focus on the view on the screen in front of her rather than on the face of the woman beside her.

“We will break orbit upon final approval from Starfleet Command,” Saru confirms.

Keyla is on the bridge, and she is a Starfleet officer, and that means that she should _definitely_ be focusing on the essentially unchanging view on the viewscreen, and should definitely _not_ be focusing on her colleague's face instead.

It’s just that it’s such a tall order not to focus on your colleague’s face when they have such a particularly beautiful face, and are such a particularly kind and witty and courageous and heroic person, and--really, how does it even make sense that _anyone_ on this bridge can tear their gaze away from those eyes that shimmer like uncharted nebulas, or that jawline that might have been drawn by the same hand that painted the stars themselves, or, below that, the soft, perfect skin at the hollow of Joann’s throat, or below _that…_

Cheeks burning, Keyla stares straight ahead, shifting miserably in her seat. _Keyla Detmer, that is not_ anything _you should be thinking about on the bridge._

“Receiving Starfleet Command approval to break orbit,” says Joann in her achingly lovely voice, her fingers flying gracefully over the Ops screens.

“Acknowledged,” comes Commander Burnham’s voice from behind them.

For the next half hour, Keyla is blessedly and completely distracted from any of the things that she ideally, probably, or definitely should not be thinking about as she maneuvers the starship away from Earth, past Mars, through the asteroid belt and, finally, clear of the solar system.

Joann’s console beeps quietly, and she reports, “We have passed the Sol system border proximity limit.”

“Set course for Vulcan, warp three, Lieutenant,” Saru orders, and Keyla complies, imagining, as always, that she can feel the ship accelerate beneath her hands. This is obviously untrue, physically speaking, but...There’s always been something about sitting at the helm of a starship that makes Keyla feel as though she is dancing with something vaster than herself, her own thoughts and her own hands becoming the impetus that guides the streamlined form of a starship through the cosmos. Manning the helm makes her feel as though she is making something beautiful happen, becoming the ultimate point of contact between the wishes of a crew and the beautiful maneuvering of a starship.

Even if the starship is _this_ starship.

Something twists miserably in Keyla’s chest, the heaviness momentarily forgotten coming back again to roost.

There is a reason that she can’t, she _can’t_ allow herself to focus on Joann’s perfect voice and beautiful eyes and heart-shattering jawline. There is a reason she can’t, and it has nothing to do with being on duty and everything to do with things that will not change no matter where she and Joann are on Discovery, because they belong to a place on Discovery that Keyla cannot visit and cannot change: the ship’s past.

No matter how quickly the crew of Discovery warp themselves forward through space and time, the raw, exposed truths of that past cannot be forgotten.

***

Two weeks into Discovery’s mission, Joann is rounding the corner to the mess hall to meet Sylvia for lunch when a door in the side of the corridor opens and Keyla steps out, looking downcast.

“Morning, Keyla,” Joann says as the two draw even with each other.

Keyla flashes her a quick smile--a quick, perfect smile. “Morning, Joann.”

It’s on the tip of Joann’s tongue to say...something, anything, to ask Keyla what’s wrong, but they aren’t that close friends, after all, more like friendly colleagues, and Keyla isn’t screaming or crying, just a little somber, so it would be weird, wouldn’t it, to ask her what’s wrong?

She takes a deep breath as her steps carry her past Keyla and Keyla disappears down the hallway behind her.

She should have complemented her. She should have said something to brighten Keyla’s day, that’s it! But now the moment is past, and Keyla is gone, and Joann has to admit that even now she can’t think of any good compliment to give. Keyla is in uniform, and her hair looks exactly like it does every day. So a quick, easy compliment on clothes or makeup or hair was pretty much off the table anyway.

And you can’t exactly casually tell your colleague “Your eyes outshine the galaxies” in the hallway.

Now feeling somewhat gloomy herself, Joann wanders into the mess hall, synthesizing herself some toast and a cup of tea before staking out a table for herself and Sylvia. She’s come to enjoy hanging out with Sylvia more and more, both for the sake of her company and because she likes the feeling of being a point of connection between the ship’s newest ensign and the career heights Sylvia so openly hopes to reach. There aren’t that many senior officers who are willing to spend hours talking about hopes and dreams and responsibilities with an ensign, but as a lieutenant junior grade, Joann is perfectly positioned to befriend the younger woman as something close to a peer, while also offering advice on the most immediate steps forward on Sylvia’s career path. It’s nice to feel like she’s helping Sylvia--and, admittedly, the confidence boost of being a source of authority to a younger officer doesn’t hurt.

Joann knows from their conversations that Sylvia has been receiving career support from Michael Burnham, too. She enjoys the feeling that Burnham, as a commander, is giving Sylvia the advice that Joann is not yet able to give, while Joann is giving Sylvia the advice that Burnham is too far removed from her own early Starfleet days to remember. The network of interlocking support feels like the informal equivalent of everything Joann loves about being a Starfleet ops officer, sitting on the bridge and becoming the point of contact between a starship’s systems and its crew and its commanding officers and the universe beyond.

Emulating that feeling of balance and connection in her personal relationships on the ship feels good. It feels Starfleet.

“So,” says Sylvia, interrupting Joann’s thoughts about their friendship to slide into the other seat at the table in person, “are you looking forward to shore leave?”

“Hmm? Oh, I suppose I am. The beaches are supposed to be gorgeous.”

“I heard.” Sylvia sighs happily. “Rhys went down with the survey team and he says it’s just about the most romantic view he’s ever seen.” Lifting an eyebrow, she adds, “A good place to take a special someone, maybe?”

Joann rolls her eyes. “Already planning your next conquest, huh?”

“Maybe so.” Sylvia grins. “ _But,_ I wasn’t talking about me. I was talking about you _aaand_ …” Bugging her eyes out, Sylvia raises her eyebrows repeatedly, nodding encouragingly at Joann as though prompting her to finish her sentence.

“Me and...a backpack full of weekly reports I need to complete? Me and...a few friends and a picnic basket full of--”

“Oh come on, Joann,” Sylvia wails as Joann smirks. “You’re not Michael! You know exactly what, _and who,_ I’m talking about!”

Joann sighs, then grins. “Okay, I know who we’re talking about. And _maybe_ in a few months, if everything’s going well on Discovery, and she’s not seeing anyone, and I’m not seeing anyone, I’ll ask her if she wants to grab lunch together and see how it goes from th—“

“Joann!” Sylvia hisses. “A few months?! Are you really going to pick a maybe-date, in a few months, over a definitely-date, on a beautiful deserted beach on an alien world, this week?”

Joann groans, stifling a giggle at Sylvia’s dramatics. “Okay, okay, point taken. Beautiful alien beach date—” Joann raises a hand to the level of her chin. “Boring someday date.” She lowers her level-illustrating her hand to the level of the table. “It’s not the shore leave that’s the issue, Sylvia, it’s the…” The timing. The everything.

Sylvia fixes her with a sweetly serious look. “Humor me for a second. If you _were_ to go on a date-date with Keyla Detmer, what would you do?”

Joann stares into the distance, picturing the look in Keyla’s eyes as she expertly pilots the Discovery, the sound of her laugh, the way her hair shines in the light from the viewscreen as their ship warps its way through the stars.

It occurs to her that she’s never seen anything quite the same color as Keyla’s hair shining in starlight.

Although--thinking back to their encounter in the hallway--Joann has to admit that that observation wouldn’t have been eligible for a cheering-up attempt, either. Compliments on the unique perfection your colleague’s hair aren’t exactly any more appropriate for the hallway than compliments on their eyes are.

“Joa-ann…”

Sylvia is grinning at her.

“Date ideas. Right.” Joann smiles wistfully, then leans forward, getting into Sylvia’s game despite herself. “Well, no matter what we did, I’d keep it lowkey, something fun and gentle to start out. If we go down to the beach, no food, just a walk, so we can be finished whenever we want to be. If we’re on shore leave on an uninhabited survey planet, we still need to be in uniform, but I might go for a little eyeshadow...or no, maybe that’s too much. Or--maybe it’s not. I think Keyla’s a makeup person when she’s off-duty, so she might think it was fun if I dressed things up a little. And we’d start out just talking about whatever, and see where it went. Keyla has been an officer for longer than I have, so she might have fun talking about her Academy days, and we could see how much the academy changed in between my first year and hers. We overlapped a little, I think, so we might have known people in common, too. And…” Joann trails off, feeling the happiness slowly drain out of her as reality sinks back in. “Sylvia, I’m not going to do this. There won’t be a date, not anytime soon, not with Keyla. Maybe not ever.”

Sylvia stares at her for a long moment, eyes sad and full of sympathy. “Joann,” she says, voice no longer teasing but gentle, “why not?”

Joann leans onto the table, staring at the dented metal as she rests her chin in her hand. “I told you why the other day,” she says quietly. “It’s not a good time.”

“Because of the war?” Sylvia, once again, looks at her with compassion mixed with incomprehension.

“Because…” Joann closes her eyes. “Because Keyla deserves better than me.”

 _“What?"_   Sylvia’s voice is a squeak, staring at Joann in genuine shock.

Joann swallows around the lump in her throat. “Keyla deserves better than me,” she says again, roughly. “What happened...what we did...this was my second Starfleet posting, and I spent it serving under a murderer. And now...the war is over...and Lorca is gone...and it’s just...us. What’s left. And what’s left is…” She stares down at her hands. “People who did what we did. People who lost what we lost. What’s left...it’s everything Lorca and the war and the other universe just...left behind. And now they’re all gone and...and what? What do we do? Who are we, now that we’re not fighting or surviving or disguised or escaping or, or complicit in what they were doing? What happens now?”

Sylvia watches her in silence, and Joann can see her eyes at last beginning to fill with understanding. She nods quietly.

“And Keyla...Keyla…” Joann continues, voice raw. “Keyla was at the Battle of the Binary Stars. She was a war veteran before I even got my orders for Discovery. She had to deal with all of that--everything that had happened to her old crew, everything that had happened to her--on top of everything that then happened to us.” Joann wipes her eyes. “There’s a gap between us, between our experiences. I don’t know if I can bridge it. I don’t know if she would want me to.”

For a few long moments, Joann and Sylvia sit in silence. Finally, Sylvia says, “That’s some really heavy stuff. I’m sorry.”

Joann smiles at her. “Hey, I think we’re all going through...something like this. There’s a lot to figure out, after...everything the war left behind.”

“Yeah,” Sylvia says, staring past her.

They sit in companionable silence for another minute, then Joann finishes quietly, “So that’s why I can’t ask Keyla out. She’s the hero. I’m just one more junior officer who was almost complicit in an atrocity.”

“Oh, Joann,” Sylvia breathes. “You’re not--you weren’t--”

Joann shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. That was an overdramatic way to put it. I just...you wanted to know why, and that’s why.” She stares down at her hands. “Keyla deserves more than an awkward date with someone like me.”

There is silence for several seconds.

“Joann Owosekun.” After her gentle understanding moments earlier, Sylvia’s stern voice makes Joann look up with surprise.

“Listen to me,” Sylvia says, staring at Joann with her eyes flashing. “I would get it if you don’t think you’re _ready_ to ask anyone out, like, I really truly would. But in all the time you’ve been pining after Keyla these last few weeks--”

“I am not pining--”

“In all the time you’ve been pining after Keyla these last few weeks, you’ve never _said_ that! You’ve said it’s a confusing time, which, like, it totally is! But other than that, all you’ve said is that you think you’re somehow not worthy of her! And that’s so, so, so, so _totally_ not true.” Sylvia shakes her head in emphasis, her curls flying. “I don’t know _how_ your brain made you believe that _you_ , one of the smartest, kindest, bravest, prettiest people on this ship, could possibly not be worthy of one of the _other_ smartest, kindest, bravest, prettiest people on this ship. But however it happened, I am here to tell your brain that that’s not true.” Sylvia widens her eyes, gesticulating wildly. “You have the Starfleet Medal of Valor! You’re a hero, too! So what if Discovery’s first mission was a horrible nightmare disaster mess? We were all in it together; we all made the same mistakes and had the same horrible nightmare disaster things happen to us and maybe this isn’t sounding as nice as I thought it would when I started this sentence by my point is that you’re a wonderful, amazing person and Keyla would be _lucky_ to have you. And if she doesn’t _happen_ to want to date you right now, there are _plenty_ of people who would, because you’re one of the bravest, worthiest people I know.”

Joann and Sylvia stare at each other for a minute as Sylvia finishes, slightly out of breath.

All at once, both of them start giggling helplessly.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Sylvia,” Joann chuckles. “I really do appreciate it,” she adds softly.

“Any time,” Sylvia responds with a grin, voice still a bit righteous, as she reaches out to pat Joann on the hand. “You _are_ one of the--the--what did I say? One of the bravest, kindest, smartest, prettiest people on the ship, after all.”

***

With her eyes closed, Keyla can see the bright lights of sickbay behind her eyelids and hear the hum of the medical tricorder. The sound is comforting, a constant from Starfleet Academy to her first posting on the Erythraean to her years on the Shenzhou and, finally, all of her time on the Discovery, at war and now at peace.

_See, Keyla? Not everything has changed._

Just almost everything.

“You can open your eyes, Keyla,” says Dr. Culber.

She does so. He is smiling at her, glancing down at the tricorder. “All your readings are within normal parameters. Your implant is functioning optimally, and since you haven’t had any issues with it this week, it appears you’re good to go.”

“Thanks, Hugh.” Keyla smiles back. Months ago, when she first received her orders and boarded the Discovery, she was still recovering from surgery. Spending several hours in sickbay multiple times each week for a battery of tests, it didn’t take long for her to get in the habit of chatting with Hugh when he was on shift. His presence reminded her of her colleagues on the Shenzhou, kind and competent and Starfleet to the core, from the time before the war came and everything changed and Keyla ended up on a ship full of coded alerts and drawn faces and tense silence.

Hugh accepts her thanks with a nod, turning to place the tricorder back on its tray, and Keyla hesitates, biting her lip. “Hugh, I…” She stops. “Never mind.”

He turns back to face her, raising his eyebrows slightly. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Keyla says, laughing awkwardly. “I was going to ask you about something that isn’t really related to any of this, it’s just a random thing, but that doesn’t really make sense at a medical appointment,” she finishes. “I’ll see you next week?”

Hugh watches her, looking dubious. “Keyla, I’ve noticed that you seemed distracted these last few weeks. If you need to talk to someone, I’m happy to be your sounding board.”

Keyla fiddles with the hem of her uniform. “I guess you have a lot of people coming to you about their problems, even though that’s not your job. I don’t want to…” To burden him, to be inappropriate, to push him into a role that he isn’t trained for. “To treat you like a counselor instead of a doctor.”

“Thank you, Keyla,” Hugh says. “I appreciate you thinking about that. But I’m on duty as a medical officer on a ship where most of the current health needs are mental health needs. It would be nice if we had a phalanx of counselors, but the whole medical team on the Discovery knows the basics,” he reassures her, “and we’d far rather you come to us than try to go it on your own.”

“Thanks, Hugh.” Looking down again, Keyla bites her lip. “I...might be asking about this more as a friend than as a patient, though.”

Hugh leans back against the adjacent medical bed, folding his arms. “Go for it.”

“There’s this…” Keyla stops, embarrassed. “It’s just...you’ve always been one of the only people I know who has a, you know, a successful relationship, despite all the...despite the war. Despite everything. And I--I guess I was wondering--there’s this...person...on Discovery, who I’ve been thinking about asking out. But I…” She closes her eyes. “I think the things I did--didn’t do...I think what happened during the war might mean I don’t...that I’m not the right person to ask her out. And I don’t know how to decide.”

Hugh regards her in silence for a long moment, smiling slightly. “Well, a date isn’t a commitment,” he points out. “If you can’t decide whether a relationship is right for the two of you, but you’re interested in finding out, you could try asking them out and see how it goes from there.”

Keyla takes a breath, then explains in a quiet voice, “The problem isn’t that I don’t know if a relationship is right. It’s more that I don’t know if I...if I deserve to ask her out at all.”

Hugh watches her in silence for another few seconds. “Sounds like a difficult situation.”

She nods.

“I don’t know the details here,” Hugh continues, “but I will say that, from where I’m standing, anyone would be lucky to get to know you in any context, friendship or otherwise.”

“Thanks, Hugh,” Keyla says again, voice wavering. “I just...it’s not so much about...who I am as a person. It’s about being an officer, and the...everything that happened during the war.”

“The last year has been hard for all of us,” Hugh acknowledges, nodding. “Have you considered that maybe your colleague has their own struggles around what happened? You’re certainly not alone in having had the war change things for you.”

“She might,” Keyla says miserably. “But if she does, it...her problems won’t be the same as mine because I... _I_ was the one who…”

She trails off, and Hugh says nothing, letting her continue in her own time.

Keyla swallows. “Joann is a good person. A good officer. She didn’t deserve any of this. And _I_ …”

Hugh watches her, brow furrowed with attention.

“I feel like I should have protected her,” Keyla says finally, tears stinging her eyes. “I...had seniority. I served on the Shenzhou for four years and the Erythraean for two years before that. I saw how good captains operate. I should have said something about Lorca--”

She breaks off, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Joann--Lieutenant Owosekun--she was only three years out of the Academy, she came on board the Discovery and had to listen to all of Lorca’s little, little pieces of cruelty while there was a war going all around us and people were dying and he had a way of getting inside your head and making you feel like it was all your fault, and…”

She glares at the wall. “And we would be on duty together, and it wasn’t like the Shenzhou, it wasn’t the kind of bridge where you talked, and so we’d just...look at each other. She’d look at me, and I’d look at her, and that was...all. That was all I did. I should have…” Her voice breaks. “I was the one who should have done something.”

Hugh lets out a quiet breath, closing his eyes as pain washes over his face. When he opens his eyes, they are filled with sympathy.

“Keyla,” he says gently. “Lorca hurt people from the day he stepped onto this ship until the day he died. He tormented my partner to get him to do what he wanted, until Paul nearly died trying. And if you think I haven’t had the same feelings you’re having, wishing I had contacted Starfleet Command three times over or gone to the Federation news service or started a mutiny myself…”

He shakes his head. “I know that guilt. That anger. But Lorca got away with what he did because he was in command. He was our captain, and we had sworn an oath when we joined the service to follow orders. A few trainings about reporting coercive behavior...how does that hold up next to being sworn to follow orders, in a situation where your commanding officer is telling you that everything he does is for the war effort, while people you know are dying all over the quadrant and Starfleet Command condones everything he does? There are over a hundred people on this ship who have been left blaming themselves for having done nothing or not having done enough. But, Detmer, we were doing what anyone would have done. We were human. That’s all. We didn’t know what to do, or we quietly filed our reports on our captain’s behavior and saw them go ignored because of _the war effort._ ”

His voice goes quiet. “People like Lorca are outside the ordinary. Having a Captain who _is_ the enemy is outside what any of us in the service—not to mention conscripts like my partner—ever trained for. You can’t blame yourself for not defeating an enemy that insidious, Keyla. I understand why you feel responsible, but you aren’t, not for what he did to you or to anyone else.”

Keyla nods shakily, tears still threatening. She isn’t sure if she quite believes everything Hugh is saying, but it helps to hear him say it. “Thank you,” she says softly.

“Thank you, Keyla,” he says. “For trusting me with this. People like our former captain, places like the other universe...they thrive on silence. People not saying what they feel or know.”

Keyla nods. He has put into words something she felt on the bridge of the Discovery all those months; the heaviness of the silence that settled between them, isolating them from each other.

“I know you’re speaking figuratively,” she says, “but everyone is so quiet, on the bridge, even now. I wonder…”

It still hurts to think of the bridge of the Shenzhou; Connor’s jokes and Georgiou’s sarcasm and the warm blend of voices as the bridge crew talked and laughed. Keyla rarely contributed, quietly enjoying the jokes rather than making them, but…

“The war left behind so much...silence.” Staring past Hugh, Keyla adds quietly, “I wonder what would happen if I said something on the bridge.” She laughs a little. “Everyone might stare at me like I had three heads.”

Hugh smiles. “I can think of one way to find out.”

Keyla wonders what Joann will think of her. This is only Joann’s second posting. Has she ever served on a ship where laughter flowed around the bridge in the absence of crises? What if she think Keyla is immature, or weird, or…

“Well, nothing that happens now can _possibly_ be weirder than what we’ve already been through,” she says aloud.

Hugh raises his eyebrows in agreement. “You can say that again.”

Hopping off the medical bed, Keyla straightens her uniform and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Thanks again, Hugh. For talking about...all this.”

Hugh smiles. “Good luck, Lieutenant. Though,” he calls after Keyla as she heads for the sickbay door, “I’m not sure you’re as much in need of luck as you might think.”

***

Joann is stepping towards the doorway of the bridge after her shift, still biting back a smile, when she sees Keyla step away from where she stopped to chat briefly with Saru and head for the door, only a few paces behind Joann.

Stepping through the doorway, Joann lingers, taking a deep breath and reminding herself of Sylvia’s words as they left the mess hall after their conversation yesterday. _You’re worthy as fuck, Joann._ And _you’re the junior officer by a small margin, so, technically, if you wanna date her, you gotta be the one to human up and ask her out._

It’s been a strange and wonderful day already, and now Keyla is walking through the doorway, only a few steps away from her.

What better time will she have than now?

“Keyla,” Joann says.

Keyla turns, smiling at her in slight surprise. “Hey, Joann.”

“Hey.” They fall into step together, heading down the hall towards the lift intersection. “What you did on the bridge was pretty awesome. I don’t think any of us are...really used to having jokes or conversation on the bridge, but it was, uh, kind of amazing-- _really_ amazing, really.”

Keyla blushes. “Thanks. It was fun--or, I mean, it was...nervewracking, at first. I thought I was just going to make some stupid joke and there’d be pure dead silence. Thanks for not leaving me hanging, Joann.” She laughs a little. “I can’t believe even Saru joined in! I still thought he was going to take me to task over it just now, but he only wanted to tell me that…” She swallows. “That it reminded him of being on the bridge of our old ship.” Smiling at Joann, she adds hoarsely, “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I did,” Joann says, and means it.

The intersection is getting closer. It’s now or never.

“Actually, I also, uh--I wanted to ask you something,” Joann says hesitantly, coming to a stop in the middle of the hall.

Keyla turns to look at her, face hesitant yet hopeful. “Uh-huh?” she says softly.

“I was wondering if you would like to go for a walk with me,” Joann says, “during shore leave.”

Keyla stares at her for a moment, then smiles widely. “I’d like that very much.”

“My duty shift doesn’t start until fourteen hundred hours tomorrow, so I could meet you at the transporter room any time in the morning?” Joann squeaks. She can’t quite believe what is happening, can’t quite believe that she _asked_ and Keyla _answered_ and now she’s _saying more words_ , words that somehow are coming out of her mouth coherently even though she definitely, absolutely didn’t think to plan this part.

“If you’re okay to meet at oh six thirty, we could transport down to the beach in time to watch the suns rise?” Keyla ask, smiling hopefully.

Joann nods several times. “That would be, uh, great.”

“Thanks! I mean, um, I’m glad you think it’s a good idea--glad you want to!” Keyla responds in a rush.

“Oh, yes, a lot!”

They stand in silence for a moment, smiling at each other.

“See you tomorrow,” Keyla says. “Uh, sleep well!”

“You, too,” Joann says, turning to walk towards her quarters as Keyla heads for the lift. She feels something rising inside her, a giddy, disbelieving joy that fills her from the top of her head to the tips of her boots. For months, there has always been something pressing on her, the weight of responsibility and worry and grief and the sound of Lorca’s slow, sarcastic clap. But now, amid all the pain and confusion that the war and the other universe have left behind, they are making room for something new as well.

Something new for the bridge; Keyla’s voice, then Joann’s voice, then the rest of the crew’s voices breaking the silence.

And now, thanks to Joann’s question and Keyla’s answer, something new just for them.

Joann feels herself grinning as she walks briskly down the corridors toward her quarters. If she wants to be up, dressed and perfectly coiffed by oh six thirty tomorrow, she has plenty of prep work to do before bed.

***

The tide is falling back towards the ocean, and they walk along the stripe of beach where the ocean has peeled back to reveal the sand. As Keyla picks her way through the seaweed and detritus left by the waters of high tide, she can feel Joann’s presence like a energy field beside her, as though the universe itself is tilting to direct the entire focus of Keyla’s awareness toward the woman at her side.

“I’m glad we were able to do this,” she says.

Joann smiles almost shyly. “Me too.”

For another few moments, the gentle lapping of the ocean to their right and the sound of their footsteps are the only noises to disturb the pre-dawn stillness.

“I’ve been hoping to spend some time with you like this for a long time,” Keyla confesses, then grins. “I’m glad you were finally the one to ask. I might have dithered for another week at least. And then we wouldn’t be here, now, on this perfect morning.”

“You wanted to ask me?” Joann squeaks.

Keyla’s eyes widen. “Of course! I mean--” She shakes her head. “How could I possibly not have wanted to?”

Joann laughs breathlessly. “I mean...I felt the same way about you.”

Keyla giggles in turn. “I’m glad that we did end up here, then. It sounds like it was really the best idea, all things considered, in the end.”

Joann’s hand brushes Keyla’s, and Keyla twines her fingers into hers. Joann’s palms are warm, the tips of her fingers cool from the sea breeze. The act of holding her hand has pulled them closer together, Joann’s face only a couple of handspans away, and Keyla can smell something sweet and flowery, Joann’s shower gel or perfume.

“Yes,” says Joann, smiling. “I really do think it was.”

They continue along the edge of the water, Keyla feeling as though every single brain cell that she possesses is aware of nothing but the soft clasp of Joann’s hand in hers. The first of the planet’s suns peeks further over the horizon, throwing a rainbow of soft pinks and golds across the water towards the shore, the warmth of the light against Keyla’s skin and the cool of the sand beneath her bare feet reminding her with every step and every breath that this moment is real, real, real.

Joann comes to a slow stop, turning to face the rose and orange sunrise. “Look, Keyla,” she says softly, as Keyla steps forward to stand beside her. “It’s the color of your hair in starlight.”

Keyla is quite certain that for several seconds, her heart, no, her breath, no, her entire body from her toes to her sunset-emulating hair has simply stopped working entirely. When her brain starts up again, she turns to Joann, and all she can think is how somehow, _somehow_ , after everything, she is here, standing next to the most beautiful woman in the galaxy on an alien planet with the falling tide lapping at their ankles as somehow, amid everything, the universe gives them the chance to have this.

Slowly, she turns to face Joann, and Joann moves toward her. Keyla closes the remainder of the distance between them, pressing her lips against Joann’s, and the sea and the sky and the stars fall away until there is nothing in the universe except the warmth of their kiss.

Their lips break apart again moments later, faces still so close together that Joann’s eyes are out of focus in Keyla’s line of vision, foreheads nearly touching.

“Wow,” says Keyla reverently, and Joann giggles, and then they’re kissing again, Keyla’s hands finding the curves of Joann’s back as Joann’s hands tangle themselves in Keyla’s hair. Keyla can feel the warmth of Joann’s body suffusing her whole being, and she presses closer, pulling Joann to her. Every nerve in her body is dancing with the pleasure of Joann’s mouth against hers, and she moans slightly, making Joann laugh against her lips.

They breathe together, slow but eager, hands gently stroking each other’s curves and shoulders and hair, learning the feel of each other’s bodies, each other’s skin, each other’s lips. As the suns rise higher in the sky, Keyla closes her eyes again, leaning into the choice that they have made. Amid everything their past has left behind, they are coming together to create something new. Together, they have dared to find the space to begin.


End file.
